The Firebird
by lovestyle
Summary: Hikaru, Kaoru, and Haruhi must write an assignment for their writing class, but despite Hikaru's begging, Kaoru refuses to share his with his brother. Bit of angst at the end.


"Write a prose about an important person in your life."

It was an easy enough assignment for Class 1-A.

Haruhi would pull together a heartfelt composition that evening after dinner, spending nearly an hour reclining back upon her futon with her eyes shut in concentration, trying to drum up every memory she could still recall of her late mother. Their teacher would regard the piece aloud fondly, tears in her eyes, as she handed their papers back the next day. Another A+ for Fujioka Haruhi- no one would be surprised.

Hikaru would leave the assignment until the last possible minute, naturally, and then force Kaoru to help him remember the time when they were four that the two of them had hidden all of their mother's undergarments while she showered. It wouldn't be a masterpiece, but it'd get him the grade, and his teacher would later write atop his paper in red ink that she had laughed, alongside a fresh B+. Not bad for a guy whose expertise wasn't in the written word, he'd think.

Kaoru was different. Writing and literature were things he had a fondness for, but he never particularly thought he was best at them. Most things he handed in were above adequate, but lacking the finesse needed to pursue writing as a career. It would be an odd moment indeed that evening when he'd consider his topic at his homework desk. Who to write about? No question- Hikaru was and always would be the person that mattered to him the most. No one could come close. But for some strange, emotional reason beyond his mind's eye, he wouldn't be able to quell himself with yet another business-as-usual write-up. Perhaps spoken word wasn't enough. Emotions were risky business, especially between boys, most especially between brothers. Perhaps this was the reason Kaoru would spend several sleepless hours, his eyes glazed as he concentrated on a point just beyond reality, trying to figure out how to put into words the abstract realm of his thoughts. He'd awaken the following morning after golden-red dreams of phoenixes he found oddly timed, his auburn hair plastered against his visage, words written on the paper before him he couldn't quite remember ever recording. His tired eyes would sweep the prose only once before stuffing it into his bookbag. He and Hikaru would shower and arrive at school two hours later, dressed and fed, prim and proper, just on time. Hikaru would beg Kaoru to let him read it for "inspiration" before writing his own in study hall, but the flat "No" Kaoru would supply would stifle the argument before it even began.

"Just once?" Hikaru would ask, hours later, as they sat at their desks for the last class of the day, waiting to hand in their papers.

"No. And stop asking," Kaoru would snap irritably, trying with all his might to hide his written words till they had been extracted from his hands by their teacher. Hikaru would pout for the rest of the day, and Kaoru would return the favor by being irritable, but things would eventually return to normal before dinnertime, and the assignment would be forgotten.

At least before receiving their grades.

"What, were you afraid you would fail?" Hikaru would ask brusquely as his brother eyed his own grade fondly, reaching out to snatch the paper from Kaoru's desk. Eyes and fingernails like daggers would descend upon the offending appendage swiftly, warning Hikaru for once and for all to mind his own business. In an act of immaturity, Hikaru would swear off talking to his brother for the rest of the day, a siblings-fight situation with no strategy or intention behind it other than to truly make the other regret his actions. Host club guests would shy away nervously, and Kyouya-senpai would have to use all his strength to abstain from breaking their hands in contempt as they took their leave later that afternoon, post hosting duties.

Weeks would pass. Things would return to normal. The prose assignment would be completely forgotten, once again. The memory of the unseen paper wouldn't return to Hikaru's mind at all, not even when their writing teacher would require Kaoru's presence after class to request his writing for Ouran's annual student-produced book of poetry, prose, and artwork. Begrudgingly, Kaoru would agree, though he'd demand to be kept anonymous when published. When Hikaru would ask him what their teacher had wanted, he'd provide some lie about how the two of them would have to stop speaking out so much in class.

A month later, the book would be distributed school-wide. Hikaru and Kaoru would both take home a copy, but they'd never read it.

At least, Kaoru wouldn't.

It would be several more months before Hikaru would even touch the book again, nabbed only in attempt to clean out his schoolbag as demanded by his mother. He'd prepare himself to throw it in the garbage... but by some force he later would not be able to explain, he'd find himself drawn to the book. Curiously, he'd leaf through the pages, unaware of exactly what he was searching for. In some coincidental phenomenon, the book would fall to the ground by an accidental slight of hand, and upon picking it up, he'd find it open to page 25. Pulled by the fire and passion they exuded, Hikaru would be unable to tear his eyes from the words. He'd read them:

_"Conflagration. Downward turning, falling. Falling. Smoldering, simmering._

_Dying. Reach through the flames to touch me, but it's too late._

_Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, arise anew, I must, I must._

_Set sail for the skies, my head held high._

_Soaring briskly. Life should be new. Wish I could separate my me from you._

_Oh, to be carefree! Emotions: misplaced, raw, abstract, real._

_Weren't you supposed to be extinguished with the flames?_

_Death, rebirth, every day, a new promise._

_All broken._

_It's impossible. Can't see the sun for your eyes._

_Keep flying south, they say, but the compass won't point north._

_It only points to you._

_Die again every day. Tears make no difference. There is no healing._

_Pushing forward is impossible. I am not the firebird._

_I am not strong enough to pull away._

_I am not meant to be the one to fly._

_If I push you out of the nest,_

_will you take to the sky?_

_Don't be shy._

_No more lies._

_Goodbye."_

And he'd know, somehow.


End file.
